


Five Words, One Story

by ArtisticVicu



Series: RPApril Extravaganza 2017 [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Family Bonding, Family Fluff, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Imagination, Loss, Original Character(s), multiple stories, musician - Freeform, suppressed memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:08:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23420710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtisticVicu/pseuds/ArtisticVicu
Summary: Each chapter is a different story.Chapter 1:Two pirates clash over a magical book. Unfortunately, they wrecked the living room.Chapter 2:Life keeps moving even if things get forgotten.Chapter 3:Sometimes the only choice is to stand up for yourself, even when the outcome of such an action can have such dire consequences.Chapter 4:A slice of life fic around some of the random conversations couples can have.Event Summary:Five things that were seemingly unrelated were given as a prompt every week. The task was to take these five things and combine them into a short story each week.
Series: RPApril Extravaganza 2017 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1684717





	1. Spoils of the Sea

The sea was rough, the bow of the ship slamming down into the water after every wave crested.  
  
“Hold tight, my fellows!” the captain bellowed from the helm. “And keep her steady!”  
  
The crew scrambled about to follow orders, working their best to keep the ship pointed forward. The captain’s hand rested on the piston strapped to his waist, his right eye narrowing. A nasty gash went under the **eye patch** over the left eye, hinting at what could only be a severe wound underneath the leather material. He easily picked out the different crew members working, taking stock of who was where, doing what on the rigging. His gaze snapped about, noting those missing, one of which had no excuse.  
  
“Where is Marcus?” the captain demanded over the storm.  
  
The first mate came rushing forward, sliding on the wet deck but staying upright. “None have seem him, Captain!”  
  
The captain snarled. “Keep her heading! I’m going below.”  
  
The captain stepped away from the wheel and the first mate hurried forward to take control. He shouldered the door to the decks below open, the ship lurching sideways and shoving him into a wall. He growled and made his way through the ship, his good eye still narrowed. He had a pretty good idea where Marcus was. He just had to trap him in the room.  
  
The only sound he could hear was the creaking of the ship around him as he approached a room that was supposed to be locked from all others. The door was ajar, swaying on the hinges with the motion of the ship. He pulled his pistol free into his other hand before slowly pushing the door open.  
  
“Come on, come on!” a voice snarled. “Where is it?”  
  
The captain clicked the hammer back and the figure in the room froze. “What are you looking for, Marcus,” the captain growled.  
  
“Captain Ozack!” Marcus chimed, jumping to his feet with his hands in the air near his shoulders. “Fancy meeting you here.”  
  
“Do not make me repeat my question, landlubber.”  
  
Marcus’s expression cleared, becoming serious. “Where did you stash it, Ozack. Where is the book?”  
  
Captain Ozack smirked. “You think I would leave it where others could easily access it?”  
  
Realization crossed Marcus’s face. “You left it in your quarters.”  
  
Captain Ozack’s smirk turned into a grin. “You thought I would have moved it after your first attempt? I knew you would never think I would keep it where you had seen it last.”  
  
Marcus shook his head, snarling, “I am such a fool.”  
  
Captain Ozack adjusted his aim to Marcus’s head. “That you are.”  
  
The pistol went off but Marcus was already moving. Captain Ozack grunted as the pair went down. The saber skidded out of his reach and Marcus was off, racing towards the captain quarters. “MARCUS!!” Captain Ozack screamed in fury.  
  
It was a race, one that Captain Ozack was determined to make Marcus lose. The ship did not help as the vessel lurched sideways, slamming them both into the walls and then to the floor. Marcus was quicker to recover and he was at the cabin doors before Captain Ozack could get his hands on him. Marcus wrenched them open, stumbling as the ship shuddered beneath his feet. There was a clap of thunder that rumbled through his chest. There, on the desk nailed into the floor, rested the treasure he had been looking for; a book with a jewel encrusted cover. He grabbed it, yanking it to his chest. He turned around, ready to bolt, only to come face to face with the barrel of Captain Ozack’s gun.  
  
“The book,” Captain Ozack growled, offering his hand. “Now.”  
  
Marcus snarled but handed the object over. Captain Ozack tucked it into his coat before gesturing for Marcus to go ahead of him, never removing the gun from Marcus’s head. Their procession was steady even with the ship trying to throw them about. As they stepped into the storm above, the rest of the crew stilled as best it could in the midst of trying to keep the ship going. The majority of eyes were on them as Captain Ozack ordered over the storm, “Lock in the plank!”  
  
Two crew members rushed forward to shove the plank of wood through its slot and then secure it into place. The ship lurched beneath them all and Captain Ozack gave a feral grin. “Walk the plank, Marcus. I’ll be merciful and leave you untied. The storm will swallow you faster than you will sink.”  
  
Marcus glared at the captain before walking to the edge of the ship and placing his foot on the rim before the plank. He turned back to place his steely gaze on Captain Ozack. “Mark my words. I will have that book and I will use its powers against you.”  
  
Captain Ozack laughed, the sound haunting and full of hate. He gestured wide. “I’d love to see you try, Marcus.” He pointed his pistol at Marcus once more. “But first, you must walk the plank.”  
  
Marcus stood there for a brief moment before turning, prepping to step up onto the plank of wood.  
  
“James! Syrus! What are you two doing?”  
  
The scene broke and two boys blinked at the mother standing at the edge of the living room, an incredulous look on her face. James stood on the couch with a foot on a **snowboard** that bridged the couch and coffee table. Syrus stood on the other end of the couch, a **toy gun** pointed at James, an eye patch over his left eye that he quickly pushed up to look up at the mother with both eyes. Under his arm was a book wrapped in tin **foil**. The mother’s gaze snapped to the silver package. “Syrus, what is wrapped in the foil?”  
  
“A book,” he squeaked.  
  
“It’s the Book of Spells!” James exclaimed, hopping off the couch. “I grabbed one of your **novels** and wrapped it because you always say that your books are full of them.”  
  
The mother’s expression softened, though her gaze wandered over the mess. It seemed as if a tornado had torn through her home. Toys and items were all over the place, littering the stairs from the basement. Even the furniture hadn’t survived the havoc her son and his friend had created. Several chairs were on their side and it looked like they had tied one of the sheets from the closet to the kitchen broom and the couch itself, the broom handle stuffed down between the cushions. The mother sighed, running her hand through James’s hair affectionately. “Alright. It’s time for you two to clean up. Syrus, your sister will be arriving in a half hour to pick you up.”  
  
“Yes Miss Sucram,” Syrus dutifully replied, pulling the eye patch off his head. James walked over and took the book from Syrus. The world melded back but, instead of being on a storming ship, Captain Ozack and Marcus were standing on a docked ship, a glorious island beside them. Captain Ozack gave a brisk nod of his head, eye patch gone to reveal the scarred flesh. Marcus gave a nod in return, the jewel encrusted book in hand. He turned, facing the woman standing on the deck, the crew still bowing to her. Marcus walked up to her and offered her the book. She smiled and took it, touching his cheek. “That’s my boy.”  
  
The goddess vanished as Marcus was left there, standing with his gaze where she had been. He took in a shuddering breath as Ozack placed a heavy hand on his shoulder.  
  
“Come on, mate,” Ozack spoke, his voice low. “We have quite the mess to clean up.”  
  
Marcus grinned, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “That we do, old friend.”


	2. Bubbles and Dandelions

The headlights of the **truck** broke through the darkness, illuminating both the road and the rain coming down in sheets. Static was the only thing on the radio but he didn’t care. He never cared. The hum of the engine was all he needed as he kept the rig on the road between the lines. After all, it wasn’t like this was a route he never did.  
  
Something leapt into the beams of the light and he jerked upright, slamming his foot on the breaks and attempting to swerve. The rig didn’t handle the change very well and the next thing he knew, he was coming to with the truck tilted but not on its side on the side of the road. He sat back, wincing but finding himself nothing more than a bit bruised. He rolled his shoulder and took stock. He was inches from a tree and he let out a shaky breath. If he had hit that, he would have most likely have died. Not to mention that the truck would have been totaled. Flicking the lock, he climbed out and dropped to the gravel. His skid marks shown even on the wet pavement. He blinked and looked up, finally registering the mist like rain drifting down to him, caressing his face. He closed his eyes and thanked the deities above that everything was ok. He’d have quite the task trying to get the truck back on the road but at least it wasn’t damaged and the cargo still strapped in.  
  
He turned to climb back into the cabin of the truck when he paused, looking back the way he had come as adrenaline surged through him. He had thought he had seen something but, as he hunted the darkness, he couldn’t see anything.  
  
He turned back around, figuring it had been his imagination when he found himself face to face with a teenage girl. He jumped, scrambling back from the teenager. She seem unaffected by his reaction, merely tipping her head to the side, bright blue grey eyes blinking at him quizzically. Anger flushed through him in his embarrassment at being startled by a little girl and he snapped, “What are you doing out here in the middle of the night?”  
  
“Waiting for you,” her melodious voice answered. He shuddered, taking another step back. “You can help me.”  
  
He frowned at her. “I doubt that.” He caught sight of something on her bare shoulder and, without thinking, he reached out and grabbed her arm, turning her to see what was there on her skin. She went with him, seemingly not bothered by the surprise rough treatment. There, on her arm, was a **bubble tattoo**. It was strange. He could have sworn he had seen it before but, for the life of him, he couldn’t remember where. Out of a hunch, he turned her, finding the same bubble tattoo mirrored on her other shoulder. “Where did you get these?” he asked, his throat tight and choking his words.  
  
“I’ve always had them,” she answered, her gaze having yet to leave his face. “It would be best if we got going.”  
  
His gaze snapped to hers and he looked into the depths of those blue grey eyes, not sure how to handle all this. She reached up and undid his grip with little difficulty. He shook his head, overwhelmed and confused. “Well, it’s going to take a while. My truck-”  
  
He had gestured towards it, in turn drawing his own attention to it, only to find that his truck was no longer where he had left it. He spun around, finding it on the road where he had come from, waiting and appearing as if it hadn’t even gone off the road. Fear added itself to the toxic mix in his veins.  
  
“We have to get going,” she spoke softly and the edge of a memory brushed his thoughts. It was faint and didn’t leave an impression but it pulled at his chest and brought tears to his eyes. He closed his eyes briefly, fighting the sudden emotion, before focusing on her. He frowned. “Where are we going?”  
  
She smiled gently. “You’ll know.”  
  
 _“It’ll take time to fix the **broken washing machine** and it would probably just be more cost effective to by a new refrigerator,” the man informed him.   
  
He sighed, running his hand through his hair. “Alright. Thank you for at least coming through and checking everything out.”  
  
The man tipped his hat and left. He closed the door behind the man and turned only to have a small body collided with his leg. He looked down at the grinning ball of energy that had attached itself to his leg. “Daddy! Daddy! Come play!” it exclaimed and he reached down, sweeping that little ball of energy up and into the air. The ball of energy squealed in joy before giggling. He grinned, replying, “My little girl unable to entertain herself? Preposterous, I say.”  
  
“But daddy! I can’t seem to find the **remote**!”  
  
He arched an eyebrow and the giggling was a dead giveaway she was lying. But he merely grinned as he brought their faces together, the fingers of his free hand finding the ticklish skin of her side. “Oh? Is that so? You can’t seem to find it?”  
  
She squealed again, this time squirming in an attempt to get away from his hunting fingers. “No! Daddy. No tickling! Treasure hunt!”  
  
He straightened, his fingers stilling as she continued to giggle sporadically. “A treasure hunt, huh? Do I get a hint?”  
  
She shook her head but she was grinning. He smiled, opening his mouth only to be interrupted by a knock on the door. He looked to it, frowning. He tucked her against his side as she fell silent, resting her head against his shoulder. He opened it, finding himself face to face with a man he never hoped to see again._  
 _“Colonel,” he greeted, the word short.  
  
“Major,” the man returned just as short. “Do you have a moment?”_  
  
“Are you ok?”  
  
He blinked, glancing over to his unexpected companion. She was watching him, eyes still strikingly blue grey. “Yeah. Just lost in memory.”  
  
“A bad one?”  
  
He pulled his gaze away, settling farther from her. “No.” Feeling as if that wasn’t enough, he added, “A sad one.”  
  
“Do you want to share?”  
  
“No.”  
  
Silence fell over them.  
  
 _He closed the door, holding tight to his daughter. He turned and walked through the house out the back door. She didn’t speak up and he didn’t explain anything. He walked all the way to the back fence before sitting her on the bar of the fence. He kissed her forehead, asking, “Are you alright?”  
  
She looked up at him, her strikingly blue grey eyes surprisingly clear. “Daddy, are you going to have to go away?”  
  
“No, sweetheart,” he assured, running his hand through her hair.  
  
“Am I?” He pressed their foreheads together, unable to answer. She touched his cheek, those too intelligent eyes full of understanding. “It’s ok, Daddy. I don’t mind.”  
  
“But I do,” he spat out, his frustration with the situation showing. She didn’t flinch but he did. He kissed her forehead before hugging her tight. “I can’t lose you too.”  
  
“But you won’t, daddy. We’re like a **dandelion**.”  
  
He pulled back, amusement bleeding through the frustration. “A dandelion, huh?”  
  
She gave a brisk nod, serious and determined. “Yep. We’re all yellow and happy together but eventually we turn white and are separated by the wind but, no matter how much you try to separate us, we always come back.”  
  
He chuckled gently. “Aw. So when will we end up seeing each other again?” he asked softly, thumbs brushing the bubble tattoos on either arm.  
  
She smiled gently. “You’ll know.”_  
  
“You’re not her,” he growled out, the tears streaking down his cheeks.  
  
“No,” she confirmed. “He did things you never want to know.”  
  
He growled and the temptation to lash out was so great, his knuckles turned white on the wheel. Her hand covered his, looking unnaturally pale against his tan skin. “She did not suffer.”  
  
His glare flicked to her but it quickly returned to the road. “Doesn’t help.”  
  
She removed her hand from his. “It does, on some level.”  
  
He gave her that and let out sigh. He glanced at her as silence settled around them. He looked forward again. “Where are we going? And no more triggering memories I had forgotten.”  
  
“Do your normal route. Relieve yourself of this load. It’s as you’re heading home that we’ll deviate from your normal route.”  
  
He nodded and focused on the road, fearing what he was getting himself into and frustrated he couldn’t have done something sooner. 


	3. Violins and the Roman Empire

The strings of the **violin** hummed as he pulled the bow across them, his motion just as fluid as the notes singing from the instrument. The sound swelled, filling the room as the notes rose and fell with the song he mapped out on the strings. His fingers never stilled for long as the music progressed and through it all he kept his eyes closed, long since put this song to physical memory. The song rolled around him, rising higher and higher as the notes came quicker, sharper. Around a bend it turned, keeping tight with him before doubling back and rolling skyward, shooting towards the ceiling. It smashed into, spraying outward as if it were a jet of water instead a stream of sound. Down it rained, blending with the new notes falling forth from the instrument he commanded. But as the song came to a close, the sound slowly settled in the room, resting like sediment in the bed of a lake. As he pulled the bow over the final string to produce that final, long note, he opened his eyes, half lidded and not quite seeing. He blinked as the note finished out, clearing his sight and widening his eyelids to a more open position. Removing his chin from the rest, he removed the instrument from his shoulder and gave a slight bow.  
  
Applause erupted from the audience. Small that the space was, the sound was thunderous and his grip on his instrument convulsed. Eventually the noise quieted as a man came forward. “Well done, Conner.” He didn’t return the notion, merely watched the man like a hawk. He shied away from the arm that wrapped around his shoulders and he tried to pull away as the man pulled him flush to his side. He felt like his skin was crawling. “Let’s here another round of applause.”  
  
The sound was deafening and the man wasn’t letting go. In fact, the man didn’t even let him budge as the man led him off stage and into a separate room. The man released him as he closed the door. Conner placed as much space between him and this man as he could without going too far from the door. The man didn’t seem at all bothered as he walked over to a service tray, uncorking a **decanter** of some amber liquid he wanted no part of. The man still poured two glasses as he spoke. “What a show, Conner. The audience ate up every second you were on stage. It was glorious!” The man forced a glass of the amber liquid into the hand holding the bow. He tried not to spill any of the liquid on his instrument. “I still think you could fill a space three times that size easily. Why won’t you let me book you a better venue?”  
  
“I have already answered this inquiry multiple times, Mr. Banks,” Conner spoke, his voice quick and his words cutting straight to the point. “My answer is still no.”  
  
“Come on, Conner, lighten up,” Mr. Banks seemed to purr. “At least call me Herman. Certainly we have been working together long enough for that formality.”  
  
Conner’s hand tightened on his instrument briefly before he turned and set the untouched glass of amber liquid on the nearest flat surface. He looked Mr. Banks dead in the eye. “I have as you countless times to call me O'Bryan at minimum, _Mr. Banks_.”  
  
The man’s half empty glass clattered as the ice shifted in his hand. Mr. Banks lowered his glass, frowning. “Jeez, kid. This isn’t something you need to get worked up over.”  
  
Conner sneered at the man. “Mr. Banks, if you will not follow my requests, I will fire you. This is your final warning.”  
  
The color drained from Mr. Banks’s round face. “Conner, you can’t be serious.” Conner merely arched an eyebrow. Mr. Banks gave him a tight grin, putting the glass down. “Y-yeah, this is just some cruel prank, right? You would never fire me. You can’t afford to fire me.”  
  
Conner gave the man a look. “I can. And I am. Mr. Banks, you’re fired. I no longer need your services. Please lose my number. I will be contacting all my current contracts and informing them that there will be a new contact for my name.”  
  
Conner placed his violin and bow on the table behind the glass of amber liquid. He picked the glass up but didn’t drink. He waited, knowing so much more about Mr. Banks than Mr. Banks knew. Sure enough, the man’s face went from sheet white to hideous plum in outrage. Mr. Banks advanced towards him, finger pointed at him and puffed up. “Now see here, O'Bryan. I made you who you are today. You would be nowhere if-”  
  
Conner threw the glass of liquid into Mr. Banks’s face. The man sputtered, taking a few steps back in surprise. Conner turned and put the glass down, picking up the violin and bow with utmost care. “I will see that your last paycheck gets to you. Thank you for your help and service, Mr. Banks. May life treat you well from here.”  
  
Conner picked up the violin case near the door and exited the room. He took the hallway at a brisk pace, turning as soon as he could. Once he knew he was out of sight, he paused long enough to tuck the instrument back into its case before taking off at a run. Through the winding halls he went, finally coming out at the farthest exit from where Mr. Banks would be at. With a sigh of relief, he started his walk home. He’d catch a bus somewhere along the way but, for now, the night was pleasant and the empty sidewalk empty.  
He couldn’t have been walking for more than five minutes when the bushes on the far side of the road rustled. Conner came to a stop, his gaze going to the massive bush that could hide a good number of animals behind it.  
  
While not quite swallowed by trees, the town he was in certainly had its fare share of wildlife that wandered in from the actual forest several miles outside of town. He never understood why critters ever came this far into town. A **fawn** stepped out of the bush first, an awkward thing on legs that seemed too skinny to be of any use. Its mother was right behind it, looking right at him as she stepped out after her child. He didn’t move, letting the parent and child move about and into the trees to Conner’s right before moving on.  
  
Conner unlocked the front door an hour and a half later. A shout went up from the living room to Conner’s left. “Conner’s home! Conner’s home!”  
  
A small body collided with his legs and he lets out a chuckle, his smile was genuine and endearing. “Hey, bud. How was school?”  
  
“It was awesome!” the kid exclaimed, beaming up at him. “We learned about the **Roman Empire** today and it’s going to be the theme for an entire week. I get to do a project based on the Romans! They were so cool!”  
  
Conner put the violin case to the side as his sibling spoke, chuckling when the rush of words came to an end. “Is that so?” He squats before the younger, ruffling the mop of unruly hair. “Guess that means that our plans to watch **_Tron_ **have changed, then?”  
  
The kid’s eyes got impossibly large and it was all he could do not to laugh at the expression his sibling was pulling. “No!” said kid shrilly yelled. “ _Tron_! You promised!”  
  
He outright laughed, scooping the kid up into his arms and situating them on his hip. He grunted, shifting his stance. His sibling was getting to big for this. “Ok, ok. I’ll keep my promise. But you have to promise to eat all of dinner tonight, ok?”  
  
“Ok!” the kid happily agreed as he walked them into the kitchen.  
  
The violin rested against the hall table that didn’t hold much. Upon its surface were two photos. One was a family of four, Conner a few years younger than he was now. The other is just him and his sibling. The second one was not a happy picture, though it was beautiful in its own right.  
  
As the sun is setting in the image, the siblings are nothing more than darkened shapes barely distinguishable against the bright background.  
  
Before them sit two grave markers.


	4. Anime and Cooking

She slammed her hands on the desk, making him jump in surprise. “Have you seen _Gargantia on the Verdurous Planet_?” she demanded.  
  
He adjusted his glasses. “Nice to see you as well, Neda.” She gave him a flat look. He sighed. “Yes, I saw it when it was released. What about it?”  
  
“I just binged it in five hours.”  
  
He gave her a look over the rim of his glasses. “You’re nuts, you know that, right?”  
  
She grinned. “Not nuts. Crazy. And we both know it.”  
  
The chuckle that escaped him was involuntary. “Accurate. So what about the anime?”  
  
“It got me thinking. You know all the sciency terms and vocab was never my strong suit.” She leaned back. “There’s a term based around believing that there is no point to life or something. Atheist but farther still.”  
  
“Nihilism,” he supplied easily, looking down at his current study. “And a good peg for what Ledo most likely experiences at several points in the anime.”  
  
“But I’m confused.”  
  
He sighed. Apparently, he wasn’t about to get any studying done. So much for looking up **Blue Duck** for his paper on outlaws and finishing his analysis of _**Gargantua** and Pantagruel_ by François Rabelais at a reasonable hour. Here was to another long night. Not that he cared overly much. He lived for conversations with Neda. “On?”  
  
“Why there were no **atolls** or any other sort of land.” She plopped onto the edge of his bed. “I mean, I understand that the planet was flooded and all with the Ice Age but the science is off. Earth’s atmosphere and the already existing ice would not be able to create enough water planet wide to sink everything. Mountains would still make islands and I would bet my left shoe that atolls would have formed over that long of a period of time easily.”  
  
“Why the left-nevermind,” he said, cutting himself off. He didn’t even want to know about the shoe bet. “It’s a science fiction anime. Fiction meaning loosely based in reality. You could even go beyond that and inquire about the people panicking about a new ice age. It seemed they had so much warning that they were creating tech that was illogical in the time frame allotted.”  
  
“Was a twist, though, wasn’t it?” she asked, grinning. “I only figured it out when he had entered the nest fully.”  
  
He nodded, giving her that. “There was bound to be some sort of twist in that fashion. Humans fighting a single race with no more a purpose than to wipe it from existence reminded me a bit too much of Ender’s Game.”  
  
She shuddered. “That story still creeps me out.”  
  
“Sadly,” he agreed. “Especially in how accurate it is when it comes to how humans would react in those situations. Same with the anime. Ledo was in a society that bred what needed to be believed so that they could "survive” to the next thing. The likelihood of the war ever actually ending, though, was implausible. It took Ledo being planet bound in a society he didn’t understand to see the errors of his ways. Even then, though, it leads to the thoughts of what is right and what is wrong in a black and white society. For all points and reasons, people could argue Stockholm Syndrome on Ledo’s behalf.“  
  
Neda made a face as she pulled her legs up under her. "He put himself into the society, though. Learned their language. Does that really equate for Stockholm Syndrome?”  
  
He shrugged. “Whether it does or doesn’t, I’m just offering what people could argue about the anime.”  
  
She hummed in understanding. “So, going back to…..whatever that word was.”  
  
“ **Nihilism** ,” he supplied.  
  
“Yeah, that one!” she happily exclaimed. “Going back to it, do you think it actually showed up in _Gargantia_?”  
  
He leaned back in his chair, tapping the end of his pen against the edge of his desk. “It may be possible. Especially when he discovers what exactly he had been killing. His entire existence was suddenly turned upside down and that would cause thoughts of meaninglessness and a thorough rejection of everything he knew.”  
  
She sat there, pondering it for a moment. He watched her, glasses in his free hand. He really had to admit, she was certainly becoming a gorgeous young woman, even if she had always been a bit odd. She was highly intelligent even when some subjects stumped her and the way her mind worked was incredible. She could pick out things he had never thought of thinking about when looking at things. The connections she’s been able to create between different topics were impeccable, if not alarming at times. But even with that high intelligence and while being mature beyond her age, Neda’s developmental stage was still close to the beginning of puberty. She barely noticed others in the same light as everyone noticed her. While she wasn’t ignorant, she didn’t fully comprehend the complexity of it all.  
  
He loved everything about her.  
  
They had known each other for over 15 years now. He had lost track to the number of people who had tried asking her out and she had been completely oblivious. It had been his entertainment over the years until he realized he had fallen for his best friend. The fond smile found its way to his face as he tipped his head to the side. Then it had just become too painful to keep track as he tried to get the courage to ask her out himself. He focused back on the conversation, stating, “He wouldn’t have been able to have returned back to the life he had once lived.”  
  
She snorted and he got a glimpse of her intelligence as she spoke, “Of course not. He would have been too affected by his experience on planet. The whole last two episodes is a testament to that. Had he truly remained with the Commander, he would have been out of character. An experience like that doesn’t leave you unmarked.” She blinked. “Speaking of which, we’re out of **tamarind paste**.”  
  
And there was an example of how seemingly random her thoughts could be. If he thought over what they had been talking about, he was pretty certain he could deduce how she had come to thinking about tamarind paste. He chuckled, putting his glasses back on. “Why do you need tamarind paste?”  
  
“I was going to make lunch but then I got distracted by my friend - you know Kenzy - she wanted me to watch this anime she had just found and so I googled it and then I was all, "Only thirteen episodes? Ok. I can watch that in a week,” and then I ended up binging the entire thing because it was that good!“  
  
He rubbed at the bridge of his nose where his glasses sat, trying very hard not to crack up. "You literally needed tamarind paste five hours ago and you are just now getting about to getting more after you were reminded of what you needed?”  
  
She grinned at him, her cheeks pink in embarrassment. “Hey, at least I hadn’t actually started cooking yet. That would have been worse.”  
  
He laughed outright at that and she freed a leg to playfully kick him. “Well?” she asked. “Do you know a substitute or something?”  
  
He got up from his desk. “Yes, I do. We may even had some more. Come on. I’ll even help you cook.”  
  
“Yes!” Neda cheered, hopping off the bed. She fell into step beside him, bumping their sides together as she fell off balance for a moment. She grinned up at him, asking, “Hey, Brek. Think we’ll ever make it to space in our lifetime?”  
  
He shrugged, offering with another fond smile, “If we ever do, we’ll be the generation that has the hardest time adjusting.”  
  
“You get that from studying history, or something?” she teased. Her expression gave away she already knew the counter to his statement.  
  
He said it for her anyways. “Of course. After all, history repeats itself.”  
  
“Will you be there when it all happens again?”  
  
He looked at her in surprise. She wasn’t looking at him but her expression looked sad even though there was a smile on her lips. He felt terrible even though he had no control with how her mind went. But, then, after having watched _Gargantia_ , it was no surprise her thoughts would turn to family and the horrors of her past at some point. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and he was glad she didn’t shrug out of his touch. He pressed his face into her hair, promising against the locks, “Always.”  
  
“I’m glad,” she confessed. She smiled up at him. “I would have hated to lose such a wonderful partner.”  
  
He buried his hand in her hair, the metal around his ring finger glinting briefly in the light before it was buried in her hair. “Same,” he assured, even if all he could convey it with was just one word.


End file.
